Celia returned to her work and Uncle William was left in the clear, open peace of the morning. Along the horizon the boats crawled back and forth, and down on the beach the clutter and hurry of men and oars came up, fresh. He bent forward and watched it all—his big, round face full of sympathy and happy comment.... “Much as ever George ’ll make out to set this morning,” he said. His eye scanned the distant boats that crept along the horizon with cautious tread. “He ought to ’a’ known Steve Burton ’d be late. Steve ’d miss his own funeral—if they ’d let him.” Uncle William chuckled..... The great, dark boat had lifted sail and was moving a little, feeling her way to meet the mysterious power that waited somewhere out in the open—Uncle William watched her swing to the wind and lift her wings.... He stepped to the door—“Oh, Celia—Want to see suthin’ pretty?” The girl went to the window and looked out. She gazed at the sky, and swept the horizon with a look. “Anything different from usual?” she said. Her eye kept away from the harbor. Uncle William came and stood behind her, looking down. “Just look down there a minute, Celia.” He took the curly head in his hands and bent it gently. She gazed at the boat—pacing slowly with the deepening wind—and her eyes glinted a little. “Looks nice, don’t it?” said Uncle William. She nodded, her fingers on her apron traveling with absent, futile touch. “I always like to see boats start off,” she said happily.... “Look, how she takes the wind—!” She leaned forward, her eyes glowing, her face lighted with the same quick, inner light that touched the breeze and the sails. Uncle William, behind her, smiled benignantly. “He’s a good sailor,” he said contentedly, “I taught George how to sail a boat myself.” He leaned forward beside her. The boat had come opposite them—gathering herself for flight. The full sails tightened to the breeze, and the bow rose and dipped in even rhythm.... The girl’s eyes followed it happily. Uncle William’s hands made a trumpet about his words—“Oh-o—George! Oh-lo-ho!—Ship ahoy!” he bellowed. The young man looked up. He took off his hat and swung it about his head. The boat was moving faster and the wind blew the hair from his forehead. “Give him a kind of send-off, Celia!” said Uncle William. He untied the little starched bow of her apron. “Wave it to him,” he said. “It ’ll bring him good luck, mebbe—!” She pulled at the apron and flung it wide—shaking it up and down with quick little movements that danced. “That’s the way,” said Uncle William, “That’s right.” The young man looked up with eager eyes. He leaped on the rail and ran along with quick, light step, waving back. Then he sprang to the stem seat and took the tiller. He was off to the mackerel fleet—with the sun shining overhead—and up on the cliff the girl stood with eager eyes and little freshening curls that blew in the wind. She tied on the apron soberly and went back to her work.